


Why Don't You

by bactaqueen



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Steve Rogers knows what he’s doing, uniform porn, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-08 23:25:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13468812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: Steve, Melissa, the stealth suit, #fuckmestraps, and a supply closet.





	Why Don't You

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.
> 
>  **Author’s Note:** Oh, hey, this fic has only been in the planning stages for like three years. It’s finally here.

Steve crouches on the dusty floor, between the tall metal shelves loaded with office supplies, looking for a box of the pens he likes and definitely _not_ hiding from Natasha or Rumlow or Fury or anyone, thank you very much, when the supply closet door opens and closes very quietly.

“No. _No._ You saw it on Twitter, Amanda, I saw it in real life. _In front of me._ ”

He winces. The fight out on the bridge had gotten messy, and there were delays letting the regular office workers get home because someone (not him) had blown out a portion of the roadway and the IRBs were taking too long to show up. He was pretty sure Natasha had been the one with the rocket launcher and the bad aim.

“It’s not black. It should be. The rest of the STRIKE team wears black. Agent Romanoff wears black. It’s not black.”

...oh. He quietly pushes the box he’d been pawing through back on the shelf. She’s not talking about the bridge fight.

The woman sighs. It’s a soft sigh, the kind of sigh he knows well but hasn’t heard in… well, seventy years, give or take. It occurs to him that she’s on the phone, and he’d been wondering if he could get out of the supply closet unnoticed, but now another thought is building in the back of his mind.

“You haven’t _seen it_ , Amanda. You saw a picture of it. There are _straps_. I know what they’re for but that’s not what they look like they’re for.”

The thought stops building in the back of his mind in favor of exploding. The heat in his face is spreading down, now, and he rolls his shoulders. All right, he admits, so the straps aren’t just for the shield. _Happy, Nat?_ Peggy’s fingers curled against the fronts of his shoulders and her smile against his mouth between kisses as she told him she needed something to hang on to maybe inspired some… redesign.

“Fuck, I wish I smoked. There’s no smoke detector in the supply closet. No camera, either, and it’s just about the only place there isn’t one. I could use a damn cigarette.” She laughs, and it’s low and self-deprecating.

Steve looks up. He assumed there were cameras and bugs everywhere, but if the supply closet is a blind spot, that does open up some possibilities.

“Yeah, yeah. I gotta get back soon, too. I don’t know how long it’s going to be. Just. God, Amanda. I’d climb him like a tree.”

He stands up. Slowly, stretching and taking a deep breath. He’s going to do this. Is he going to do this? Well, he’s rounding the corner of one of the shelves, and there she is, sitting on a stack of copier paper boxes, hanging up her phone and looking down at it, expression at rest but he can smell her, can see the high flush on her cheeks and the heat in her skin. She’s wearing a skirt, gray and knee-length and sensible, and flat black shoes, and a shirt with buttons undone to her breastbone and the sleeves rolled up. He positions himself, carefully, leaning a little against the corner of the shelf, and he lets out a slow deep breath.

Then he clears his throat and says, “Well, why don’t you?”

She’s sitting still, but when he speaks, she reaches a new level of stillness. She stops breathing. Slowly, so slowly, she looks up. Her eyes are big and her face has lost all color, even her lips, which are parted in a horrified O.

He says, “And the straps _are_ for what you think they’re for.”

“Oh my god,” she moans. She closes her eyes and buries her face in her hands and, impressively, curls in on herself. “Oh my god I’m going to die. I need to die right now.”

“Please don’t. Then I’ll have to explain to Fury why I’m hiding in the supply closet.”

She peeks at him through her fingers and her hair. Her face has color now, bright color, and her eyes are shining. “Why are you hiding in the supply closet?”

He shifts his weight. “There aren’t any cameras in here,” he says, as though that’s something he’s known for more than maybe a minute.

She looks up, just like he did, into the corners of the room, and at the single naked flourescent rod that lights it, then at him. “Are you avoiding Director Fury?”

He smiles at her. It’s the one he perfected on the road, for the crowds, and he hopes it still works.

It does. The flush on her face deepens and she sits up, slowly, and her knees press together under her skirt.

He stands up, reaches with one hand to touch the opposite strap, and glances down at it. He wraps his fingers around it and tugs, then looks at her.

“What do you think of the new uniform?”

“Oh my god.” But she says it breathlessly, and less like she wants the earth to split open and swallow her whole.

He counts it as a win and drops his hands to his belt, hooks his thumbs into it near the buckle and taps a few bare fingertips lightly against his fly. He looks at her, considering, and finally decides _fuck it_.

“Do you like climbing trees?”

“I might need a boost,” she says, and it’s clearly without thinking because her eyes go wide and she bites her lower lip as soon as the words leave her mouth.

Steve laughs. The tension uncoils inside him, spreads new and hot through him, and all right, he thinks. This is good.

“Come here. I’ll give you a boost.”

She looks at him, looks up at him, and he watches the darkness enter her eyes, watches the flush change her lips and her cheeks, and, finally, she stands up.

She laughs a little and crosses the short distance to him. “Do you even know my name?”

“Melissa,” he says easily, because he’s good with names and he’s good with faces, and that didn’t change after the serum. He puts a hand out to her and the steel in his spine melts when she takes it. He adds, “Do you even know mine?”

The way her face softens cuts right through him. “Steve,” she says. And she’s standing so close he can feel the heat from her body, too. She smiles up at him. “The uniform’s all right.”

“Too much?”

She wraps a hand around one of the straps and tugs a little. He leans into her, crowds her, and listens to the little shuddering breath she releases.

“No. Just enough.” She tips her face up.

He takes it for the invitation it is and cups a hand on the back of her head when he kisses her.

She lifts on her toes and leans into him, releasing his hand so she can wrap both of them around the shoulder straps, and as her lips part and her tongue slides against his, greeting and invitation, he puts a hand on her waist to squeeze, gently.

Melissa nuzzles at him as she breaks the kiss, and while she keeps her eyes closed and licks her lips, he can’t help looking at her. The high flush on cheeks and her quick panting breath heat up the space between them. Then she opens her eyes and gives him a quick smile that reads like an invitation. A moment later, he’s got both hands under the sweet curve of her ass.

“Come on up,” he says, and lifts her.

She laughs, her hands tightening around the straps, then buries her face against his neck to muffle the sound of it. He walks her back, toward the stacks of boxes of copier paper that are just about the right height, and her lips touch his skin, part against the side of his neck, and her tongue starts moving.

He doesn’t mean to moan, but he’s not unhappy about it.

He sets her on the boxes and kneads her ass for a few moments, ducking and nudging until he can kiss her again. The kneading drags her skirt up, up, until he can stand between her parted legs, the heat of her cunt against his rising cock, only the stiff fabric of his fly and her soft wet panties between them.

He lifts a hand to her hair again, to stroke it back from her face, and he kisses her with short, quick, breathless kisses. Time to come clean, he thinks, and kisses her bottom lip.

“I haven’t done this in about seventy years,” he says.

She laughs. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Well.” He kisses her, means for it to be quick but gets a little lost in it, slipping his tongue along hers, tipping her head back, teasing out of it again. “I was thinking more, show me what you like.”

Melissa shudders. Her fingers clench and she twists the straps in her palms. “Oh.”

He kisses her bottom lip, her chin, her neck. He presses his mouth to her jumping pulse and licks at the salt of her skin.

“Or tell me,” he mumbles, and he’s slouching, kissing into her shirt, licking her collarbone, the hollow of her throat. “Can I open this?” He runs fingertips down the front of her shirt where buttons are hidden in the placket.

“Please.”

He does, making quick work of the smooth tiny buttons, and he’s glad the gloves are fingerless when he covers one of her breasts with his hand and rubs the tip of his bare thumb around her nipple through the lace of her bra.

She wraps her legs around his waist and pulls him closer, not knocking him off balance but it’s a near thing, and she rubs against him.

His pants are starting to get uncomfortable. “Hang on,” he says, and moves the hand from her breast to the small of her back to steady her and himself when he reaches between them to release the catch on his belt buckle and open his pants.

The suit looks like one piece, but the top and the bottom connect under the belt, and the bottom sags away from the top when he gets his fly open. He has faith in the fasteners keeping the pants up; they can handle when he jumps out of planes and throws himself through windows, they can probably handle… this.

Since his fingers are there, anyway, he presses a thumb between the swollen lips of her cunt, through her panties, to rub it in a small circle around her clitoris.

Melissa gasps. “Yep, that’ll do it.”

He laughs and kisses her again and keeps at it, his thumb against her, small, gentle circles, around and around until she’s breathing too hard to keep kissing him.

“Think I’m gonna need you to get those off now,” she says.

He thinks about being smart and asking what she means, but the way she’s squirming and the way the blood is rushing in his head makes him reconsider. He kisses her again, long and slow, and stands up.

Her hands fall away from the straps, and he misses them. He misses the dig of her knuckles into the fronts of his shoulders and the weight of her pulling him down. But he’ll get it back, and he sinks smoothly to his knees in front of her and pushes her knees together.

Her eyes go wide again.

Eyes on hers, he takes her shoes off, then slips his fingers up her calves, behind her knees, up her thighs, under her skirt, and tucks them into the waist of her panties. And he pulls. She shifts, back and forth, until he’s got them down to her knees, and she’s still when he pulls them off. He sets them on one of the boxes for easy retrieval later. It’s never fun searching for your clothes afterward, when there’s time for regret, when reality sets in, and it might have been a while, but he hasn’t forgotten the little things.

Like pushing her knees apart, eyes on hers the whole time, until her legs are spread and he can smirk up at her before he looks.

“Pretty,” he says, without thinking, because she is, open and wet and beautifully shaped, and he licks his lips.

“I’m gonna need you back up here kissing me,” she tells him, voice shaky.

He can’t help it, doesn’t want to, and strokes the pad of his thumb along the wet lips of her cunt. “You sure?” He finds her clitoris again, rubs those tight, gentle circles that seemed to get her where she lived before, and he looks up at her again.

“Oh, yeah. Like five seconds ago.”

Her pupils are so wide her eyes are nearly black and her lips are wet, red, parted. He smiles up at her. “Next time?”

“Fuck,” she breathes.

He stands, his hands going to her hips, sliding up her sides and over her breasts until he can cup her face, and he laughs into a kiss. “Yeah,” he murmurs, “sure.” And then he’s sliding his hands back down until he can scoop her up.

She holds onto the straps and wraps her legs tight around his waist, and her sweet wet cunt is hot and soft against his lower belly, his cock standing up through the open fly of the uniform pants, twitching in time with the pounding of his heart. He walks her the few short steps to the wall beside the door, where they’ll be behind it if someone walks in, and pins her there, his hands under her ass holding her, his shoulders against hers.

He kisses her and shifts his hips until the tip of his cock is against her. “Slow or fast?” he murmurs into her mouth.

She doesn’t say anything. Her mouth works like she wants to, and her legs tighten around him, and her fists rock against his shoulders, but the words don’t come out.

So he covers her mouth with his and slides inside her slowly.

Slow, he thinks through the haze. Slow. And he manages it for several strokes, so slow, sliding in and pulling out of her, and she’s so slick it’s an easy glide, and when he bottoms out she gives a whimpering keen. God, he missed this, this incredible thing, the weight of her, the clench of her around his cock, sharing her heat and her breath, the smell of her and the look on her face when he breaks a kiss, when he pulls back just enough to watch her eyes go back and her mouth go slack when he slides all the way in.

“Oh my god,” she manages. She yanks on the straps and she digs a bare heel into the small of his back. “Oh my god. Fast. Can we try fast now?”

He pulls out a little and thrusts in, quick, a test. “Are you a screamer?”

“Oh my god,” she says again, and her head goes back. “I don’t know.”

He laughs and covers her mouth with his. “Let’s see.” And like she asked, he picks up the pace.

She stifles herself nicely, first by letting him swallow the short, sharp little sounds he fucks out of her with each thrust, and then against the hollow of his throat when she presses her face to his neck and opens her mouth against his skin. He curls around her, buries his face in her hair so he can breathe near her ear, lip at her earlobe and kiss the line of her neck each time he thrusts into her, each time he drives her up.

Dimly, he feels his belt buckles slap his thighs, and then there’s the sound of a faraway rattling and an unexpected chill against his flexing ass. But her legs go tighter around him, and her back arches and she starts to writhe, and he focuses instead on following her, chasing the way she moves, holding back until he feels the fluttering, clenching pull of her cunt around his cock, until he feel the flood of her orgasm.

He lets himself follow her over the edge, shoving in deep and staying, grinding his hips against her so her clitoris is caught against his pubic bone, so he can wring just a little more out of her.

She shakes in his arms. He shifts his weight, easing his shoulders off of her, unpinning her from the wall, and shifts his arms around her so that one forearm is under her rear end and the other is around her, and he’s holding her now instead of just holding her up. He kisses the side of her neck, the shell of her ear, her cheek as his cock slips out of her.

Melissa shudders and laughs. “Wow. You’re not rusty at all.”

He laughs, too, and kisses her. “Thanks.”

She starts to let her legs fall, and something inside him twists, and the sadness that it’s over settles a little heavier than he remembers in his gut. But he just holds her until she’s on her feet, and when she steps back a little and starts righting her clothes, he takes a step forward to help.

And damn near falls flat on his face.

Steve looks down. The bottom half of the stealth suit has come away from the top half and is pooled around his mid-calves, at the tops of the boots. It’s… not what he’s expecting, and he stares.

She makes a strangled, half-laugh, and when he looks, she’s biting her lips.

Melissa says, “I didn’t know it was two pieces.”

He leans down, finally, and yanks his pants up. “It’s not supposed to come apart like that.” He rights the pants and tries to shove the top half back into place beneath the waistband.

Her eyes widen. “Did we break your uniform?”

He pauses, hands on his fly, and then laughs. “We broke my uniform.”

Suddenly, they’re laughing together. He does up his pants, and he reaches for her, and she comes into his arms, lets him button her shirt and push her skirt back down her thighs, all the while they’re laughing together.

He rests his hands on her waist and smiles down at her. “On a scale from, say, a scrappy bush to your favorite climbing tree, what do you think?”

Melissa snorts. “We’re definitely talking mighty oak with well-spaced branches.”

Steve grins at her. He can’t help it and doesn’t want to, so he tucks his fingers under her chin to tip her face up and he kisses her.

“I left your panties on the boxes,” he says. “You want help putting them on?”

She swallows hard. Her eyes flutter shut, briefly, and she takes a calming breath. “If you do, I won’t get back to my desk, will I?”

“How much longer is your break?”

She laughs again and pulls away from him, and this time, that ache of something missing doesn’t lodge inside him.

“Let me leave first,” she says, and turns away from him to swipe her panties off the boxes. She stays turned away from him while she puts them on, balancing carefully on one foot at a time, tugging them up under her skirt, and then smoothing her skirt back down. She turns back to him. “How do I look?”

He doesn’t say the first thing that comes to mind, but it must show on his face, because her cheeks go pink and she runs her hands through her hair.

“Yeah, okay. You don’t look much better. Do something about your hair,” she tells him.

He captures her hand as she passes him, on the way to the door, and he presses a kiss to her knuckles. “Any time you feel like climbing…” he says.

“Oh my god.” But the way she looks at him is familiar, and good, and right. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Steve.”

“See you tomorrow, Melissa.”

She takes her hand from him and puts it on the door, and she pauses. Then she looks back at him.

“Are the straps really for…?”

He just grins at her.


End file.
